Page 15 of Bound In Stone, Claimed In Fire

I cast her a sidelong look. “Humans have called gargoyles worse.”

She almost smiles, tension in her eyes. “I’m aware. Let’s just hope they’re too hungry or desperate themselves to start trouble.”

We descend toward the trail, each step a jarring reminder of sore muscles and gnawing emptiness in our bellies. A faint breeze picks up, scattering dust across the ground. When we reach the path, we find footprints—human or at least humanoid—leading east. Fresh enough to suggest a small group passed by recently. Sariah kneels to examine them, her brow furrowed. “They’re not heavily booted, so maybe not soldiers.” She glances at me. “Shall we try to catch up?”

I nod curtly, though a flicker of caution flares. “We’ll keep our distance until we know who they are. If it’s a caravan, they might trade with us. If they’re bandits, we’ll have to handle them differently.”

She stands, brushing grit from her hands. “All right. Let’s move quickly.”

Following the trail is a relief after scrambling over boulders. The path is narrow but relatively even, winding between low hills draped with patches of dried grass. From time to time, I see animal droppings and more footprints, confirming it’s in regular use. We stay vigilant, Sariah scanning the horizon with each twist in the road while I listen for any echo of conversation or hoofbeats on the wind.

After about an hour, the tether hums a subtle warning—though I realize it’s not the bond but my own instincts flaring. I halt, lifting a hand to signal Sariah. She stills, eyes darting around. Then I hear it: the faint murmur of voices carried by the breeze. A small ridge rises ahead, beyond which the voices seem to emanate.

Cautiously, we approach the slope. I let Sariah take the lead, crouching so my tall frame doesn’t silhouette against the sky. My wings rustle, and I carefully fold them, pressing them tight to my back. It will complicate things if whoever’s on the other side see a gargoyle creeping over the ridge.

Sariah eases forward, peeking around a cluster of rocks. From my vantage, I catch glimpses of what lies below: a ragtag group of maybe four or five humans. They’ve set up a makeshift camp, a small fire crackling near some pack animals. No uniforms, no obvious insignia. They look like wanderers or refugees. Some battered blankets, a half-collapsed tent, and lines of fatigue on their faces.

My eyes narrow. They don’t appear heavily armed, though one man holds a crossbow. Another fiddles with a rusted sword. Definitely not a well-organized militia. My posture relaxes fractionally.This might be an opportunity.If they have food or directions, we can attempt to trade. But the presence of weapons means we can’t be careless.

Sariah crawls back toward me, chewing her lip. In hushed tones, she reports, “They look harmless enough, but they’re armed.” She swallows. “I can try approaching them alone. You stay hidden until we see how they react.”

I clench my jaw. “If they turn hostile, I won’t remain hidden.” A flicker of protective instinct rears its head—both from the tether and the memory of what transpired the last time I let a purna fight alone. I will not watch another turn to dust before my eyes, even if it’s not the same situation.

She nods, face set with determination. “I understand. Just… let me handle it first. If it goes well, we can both approach. Maybe we’ll finally get some real supplies.”

I shift, folding my arms. “All right. I’ll be within range.” The tether ensures I can’t venture too far anyway. “Don’t do anything reckless.”

A wry smile flickers across her lips. “I’m trying to avoid that, believe me.” She takes a breath, steadies herself, and rises, cloak draped around her to conceal the worst of her travel-worn appearance. Then she steps over the ridge, following the path toward the unsuspecting group below.

I crouch behind a rocky outcrop, tensing. My senses sharpen, every nerve keyed to any sign of conflict. Sariah walks slowly down the slope, arms raised to show she isn’t wielding a weapon. The group notices her almost immediately—the crossbow man jumps to his feet, leveling the weapon at her. She pauses, speaking in a low tone I can’t fully catch, but her posture is calm. Their voices drift upward, disjointed but not yet filled with violence.

Minutes pass like hours. I watch the men’s stances. One woman in the group approaches Sariah, glancing warily at the path behind her as if expecting more travelers. Sariah gestures around, likely explaining she’s alone or at least not an immediate threat. Gradually, the tension seems to ease. The crossbow is lowered, though the sword-wielder still grips his hilt.

My chest loosens a fraction. This might actually work. I stay hidden, but inch forward just enough to keep them in sight. Sariah points to the battered packs they have, and then at her empty cloak. The woman nods sympathetically, rummaging through a small crate. They exchange more words, and I catch a snippet of Sariah’s voice: “We have coin.” Her hand moves to her pocket, though I doubt she has much to offer—maybe a few trinkets from the temple or leftover coins from her time in the coven.

The man with the crossbow mutters something that makes the others tense, but Sariah stands firm, head tilted in that defiant way she has. Another volley of conversation passes, and then the crossbow man spits on the ground, turning away as if in disgust. The woman glares at him, then shares a quick, hushed discussion with Sariah. Finally, the woman nods and calls out to the others. I see them rummage for something. Moments later, they produce a small satchel that looks like dried rations.

Sariah’s shoulders sag in relief. She trades what appears to be a small silver bracelet from her wrist. The woman examines it carefully, a flicker of awe on her face, then hands the satchel to Sariah. The crossbow man is clearly displeased, but he doesn’t intervene. Perhaps the woman outranks him or they have some agreement. Either way, no fight breaks out.

I exhale slowly, my tail uncurling from its taut position. The tension across my shoulders ebbs slightly.So far, so good.Sariah and the travelers share a few more words. I see Sariah gesture eastward, as if asking directions. The sword-wielder points, then mimes a winding route, presumably describing a better path. Sariah nods, adjusting the satchel under her arm.

She steps back, offering a polite inclination of her head. The group resumes their own business, though crossbow man keeps a suspicious glare pinned on her. She doesn’t linger, turning and trudging back up the slope. My relief grows.She did it,I think, somewhat impressed. Negotiations without violence or exposure to them of a gargoyle lurking in the shadows.

When she crests the ridge, I rise from my crouch, searching her face for signs of trouble. Her cheeks are flushed with the effort of staying calm. She clutches the satchel, which she carefully opens to reveal strips of dried meat, a few wafer-like biscuits, and something that might be salted roots. It’s meager, but more than we’ve had in days.

She exhales a shaky laugh. “They’re refugees from a dark elf raid, heading west to avoid further conflict. Didn’t seem thrilled at the idea of more strangers wandering around, but the woman took pity on me when she saw the mark on my hand.” Sariah rubs the scar self-consciously. “She said she’d known others in a similar situation.”

I nod, scanning the ridge to ensure the travelers haven’t changed their minds about being generous. They appear to be packing up their camp, likely wanting to move on. “Let’s go,” I say, lowering my voice. “I’d rather not tempt them to question us further.”

She agrees, and we slip down the opposite slope, putting distance between ourselves and the refugees. Once we’re confident no one’s following, we pause under a twisted pine. Sariah lets out a long breath, offering me a share of the meager rations.

“Here,” she says, voice gentle. “Take what you need. You did gather all that firewood, after all.” There’s a playful edge to her tone, a tiny attempt at humor.

I blink, accepting a couple of dried meat strips. I tear a piece free with my teeth, savoring the salty flavor. My stomach clenches in gratitude. “Good job,” I say, meeting her gaze briefly. “You handled them well.”

She flushes a little. “I guess I have some negotiation skills left after all.” Then she sobers. “They said we should follow this trail until we reach a fork near the next ridge. If we take the eastern branch, it loops around to a wide valley that eventually leads to the Snowfall Glen territory.” She shrugs. “The woman didn’t know about the Glen specifically, but she’d heard rumors of purnas in those mountains.”

I chew thoughtfully, finishing my bite before responding. “Then that’s our next step. No more scrounging across these peaks. We’ll use the path and hope we find the Glen before Drayveth finds us.” A grim resolve settles in my chest, fueling me forward. The vow to remain in stone sleep is undone. Now, I have a new vow—to ensure Nerezza doesn’t plunge the world into chaos once more. And if that means forging a deeper bond with Sariah, at least until we break this tether… so be it.

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